C’mon baby, show ‘em

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Fo1SwrgOvY

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There’s a poem in here and they know it.

Though experience tells them I’ll blow it.

(Six or seven times.) Every last thing is a poem.

Especially this: it rhymes! C’mon baby, show ‘em.

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Catch the form and pay the fee.

This one’s a composite-of-ghost-faces tree.

Produits de l’esprit et l’imagination en français.

Deux têtes dans le feu*, the rest held at bay.

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I don’t know how much is resistance

and how much amounts to persistence

in wanting to barge through to tantalize.

Ambiguities easily paralyze.

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But ambivalences have a chance.

Though often as not they will split your hot pants

at least you’ll have something to show.

The vagina may smile but the penis won’t grow.

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Poems aren’t sex, you know.

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*products of the mind and the imagination in French.

Two heads in the fire.

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